I Heard It Through The Grapevine
by Lefthanded Bandit
Summary: The newest DADA professor assigns weekly journal entries. It’s all harmless; that is, until a box of entries is stolen. When the pages begin appearing all over school, nobody’s secrets are safe anymore. What does this mean for our favorite werewolf?


A/N: Just re-read HBP, this is my first Potter fic in a long time. Saw this plot bunny on forums somewhere, not entirely sure, so if this is your plot bunny, shoot me a message and I'll credit you in my author's note for my next chapter! This is set in Marauders' time, all my base are belong to J.K. Rowling except for Deminah Wartbobble who is mine (and so are her dragon paperweights.) The title is a play on the song "I Heard It Through The Grapvine" if you didn't notice yet :3 Also, spot the Star Trek reference and you'll make me a very happy girl. Read and review and you'll make me an even happier girl (and the next chapter might come faster!) :D Enough mindless drabble, go read!

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The woman at the desk shoved the ominously teetering pile of parchment closer to the edge of her rickety desk in despair. She looked up at the cracked mirror hanging haphazardly off the wall, and brushed away a stray spider. Frowning at the carrot-colored mess atop her head, Professor Wartbobble pulled it back and stuck an ivory quill in the orange tangle. As Hogwarts' new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, Professor Deminah Wartbobble was relegated to a closet-sized space next to Argus Filch's room that smelled faintly of mold. Somehow, she managed to fit all her assorted baubles, books, and a giant tank (which currently contained a jarvey) into the cramped space. The official explanation that Headmaster Dippet gave was that there was simply no room anywhere else in the entire castle for her office. Privately, Wartbobble suspected that due to the fact that Defense Against the Dark Arts professors never seemed to last for long at Hogwarts, he decided that any room would do until she decided to resign, go mad, or spontaneously combust as her predecessors did. With a discouraged sigh, she refocused her attention on grading the compositions at hand.

_It is my personal believe that Cornish Pixies is dangerous and should be treated as such._

A bit miffed at the obvious disregard for the basic rules of English, Wartbobble set aside the parchment and looked at another.

_Vampires is only being repelled with garlic._

"What is wrong with these kids?' she wondered out loud. Was English even a required class at Hogwarts? Or were they expected to learn all the nuances of grammar from reading textbooks on completely unrelated subject? Another spider skittered onto a parchment and Wartbobble squashed it with one of the two miniature dragon paperweights atop the desk. The more she settled in, the more disgusting the place seemed to become.

The dingy and crowded office was the least of her worries at the moment. More worrisome than the jarvey attempting to shout rude things at her through the thick glass tank was the fact that although her students seemed to grasp the concepts of defense against dark creatures and spells, they did not seem to understand the English language. Each and every composition seemed to be rife with simple spelling and grammar errors. Normally, Wartbobble was not much of a stickler for proper grammar, but after reading through hundreds of essays with the same mistakes, she was beginning to see why none of her predecessors stuck around.

The cuckoo clock struck midnight and still, very little progress was made in the grading of the compositions. With a sigh, she sunk her head into her grubby little hands, realizing the hopelessness of her students. Suddenly, a loud noise made her spring to her feet, nearly tripping on her over-long robes.

"OI YOU! YOU BLOODY ARSEHOLE!" shrieked the jarvey in a shrill voice. The small, ferret-like creature banged on the enchanted glass angrily. Her silencing charm had worn off more quickly than she had anticipated.

Already irritated by the tiny room, the odd smell, and the stack of work awaiting her, Wartbobble roared, "OH MERLIN'S BEARD, WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY?"

She crossed the room to get a cup of tea (with a dash of her favorite firewhiskey, of course), pointed her wand at the creature, and muttered, "_Silencio_." At once, the creature fell silent and enraged by the loss of his voice, redoubled his efforts to escape his tank. Wartbobble glanced over at the tank, where the jarvey continued to thrash about angrily, giving off the overall impression of a very ill tempered and tiny mime. In a particularly foul mood, she gave the ancient creaky desk a savage kick. Almost immediately, one of the desk's legs gave way and all her belongings were thrown off the table onto the floor. Swearing loudly, she mended the desk, "_Reparo_," and the leg re-attached itself.

"There, as good as new…I think," Wartbobble said before tentatively poking the fragile wooden leg with her wand. With bated breath, she waited to see if it would buckle again. After about a minute, she decided that it looked stable enough, and she began collecting papers to take up to her quarters. Frustration set in, and she decided she would finish her cup of tea and call it a night. Almost immediately after turning her back to leave, the fragile leg cracked yet again.

"Damn it, I'm a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, not a handyma-," she grumbled to no one in particular. Her sentence was cut off when she tripped on the second dragon paperweight and landed squarely on her back with a sickening thud.

The jarvey pointed and howled in silent laughter from his glass prison. With a sigh, she turned over on her side and reached for a swig of firewhiskey. Suddenly, a stroke of pure genius, the whiskey, or a little bit of both gave her a brilliant idea. Not only would she satisfy her taste for gossip, she would improve her student's compositions if it were the last thing she did. This was going to be one hell of a year, and Professor Deminah Wartbobble would make sure of it.


End file.
